


Ripples Against a Tidal Wave

by DragonMaster65 (firelord65)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Groundhog Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 11:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12747504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelord65/pseuds/DragonMaster65
Summary: Katara is haunted by the past, literally. She cannot escape the question of what could have happened if she had known that the raid on the Southern Water Tribe was coming. Her struggles to save her mother consume her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my final round submission to the Pro Bending Circuit! Fingers crossed that we make it into semi-finals :] Hope you guys have enjoyed these interesting oneshots and shortfics. If you haven't already, feel free to check out my other four submissions (after you've read this one).
> 
> Write a character experiencing the same day over and over. They must be aware of this fact, but you can decide what they do with this information.
> 
> Character: Katara  
> Bonus Prompts: (Dialogue) Looks like it's gonna be a great brawl, (Restriction) Must interact with all five senses)  
> Team/Position: White Falls Wolfbats, Waterbender  
> Word Count: 2991 (ch 1 - 1227, ch 2 - 748, ch 3 - 936)
> 
> Serious creative license has been taken with the canon events because… I can't remember exactly what happened from the vague flashbacks we saw in the show. Oops.

When Katara wakes up bundled in a pile of furs, she takes a minute to question it. She went to sleep in a sleeping bag by the fire not inside of her family's home. Reaching up to pull the furs off of her, Katara pauses to marvel at just how small her hands are. The understanding that this is a dream or surreal memory comes quickly enough when she hears a voice that steals her breath away.

"Good morning, my little lion seal," Kya said. Her smiling face shimmers in Katara's eyes until Katara blinks away the burgeoning tears.

"Mom!" Katara slips easily into the morning routine, wriggling out from the furs to give her mother a hug. Hakoda enters their home, a fresh line of fish slung over his back. It will be dinner later that day. For now breakfast is fresh otter penguin eggs that cook up quickly in the skillet over the stove. Katara would normally run about the hut while her parents cook, but this morning she watches their every movement. Once Sokka grumbles his way awake they dig into the meal.

To question the dream is out of the question. It's so rare for Katara to truly recall what her mother looks and sounds like, never mind to feel the warmth of her against her face as Katara squishes herself once more to Kya's side. "What's the matter? Are you feeling alright?" her mother asks. She switches to concern, pressing a hand to Katara's forehead and cheeks.

"Nothing's wrong," Katara says. The smile on her face is bittersweet. She doesn't want to wake up. "Just wanted to hug you again."

Sokka scoffs in the way that only siblings can. "Don't be such a momma's girl. We were going to do fun things today, not just stay glued to Mom's side," he grumbles.

Sticking her tongue out at him is reflexive and childish; Katara wonders why she ever stopped doing it. Kya admonishes them both before helping them to put on fresh clothes for the day. "Go outside and find Gran-gran. I'm sure she has a new story or two for you to learn from. Unless you'd rather help clean up from breakfast?"

Both children are out of the hut in a flash. Katara tumbles into the snow immediately, a gleeful smile replacing the bittersweet one. The pillowy piles seem crystal clear and more beautiful than she ever thought snow could be. She's missed the South Pole. Of course she doesn't get very long to marvel at the snow she gathers into her palms; Sokka pelts her with an underhanded snowball to her back.

From there, it's a mad dash around the village, shrieking and mocking one another as they try to one-up the other. Sokka's older friends whoop and holler at him as they cross paths. They are too busy heading out to fish to join in the fray which is just fine by Katara. Sokka's taller than her and can run that much faster. He doesn't need any help.

The fight has to end eventually. Their mistake was getting too close to Gran-gran's home as the older woman grabs Katara by the ear. "Back in my day, young men and women didn't cause such a commotion before lunch," she insists. It's enough to make Katara sheepishly drop her two perfectly formed snowballs.

Sokka however is distracted, staring at the sky. One hand reaches up to point. "Why is the snow black?" he asks. Katara's heart hammers in her chest as she turns her face to the sky as well. He's not lying, which Katara had hoped he might have been. Soot falls down, gentle as feathers. The dream has turned to a nightmare.

It refuses to end, even as Katara recognizes now the day her brain has chosen to re-live. Shouts rise up over the village, calls for the warriors to gather at the packed snow walls. Gran-gran collects Sokka and Katara into her arms to usher them to her hut. Inside, Katara feels no joy at the familiar tapestries hanging on the walls or the carved figurines sitting at their eye line waiting to be played with.

"What's going on?" Sokka asks. "I gotta go with the other men!"

Fear alights in Gran-gran's eyes. Katara can feel it reflected in her own. Still, their grandmother is calm as she directs the children to settle deep in the hut under a pile of furs. It's hot there and Katara aches to take off her heavy parka. Only the gloves can come off without disturbing the cocoon that is hiding them from view. "You have to stay here, Sokka. Your job is to protect your sister. That's your warrior's task," Gran-gran insists.

Determination replaces worry on Sokka's face. He's nine and eager to prove that he can do what he needs to as a warrior. Katara can't believe how little has changed with the set of his jaw or the crease in his brow. Her mouth aches to tell them that they're not hiding the right person. But she's frozen by the vividness of the memory and can only clutch the thick fur hide tighter in her palms.

It's silent for a while then. Gran-gran remains in the hut, occasionally shifting where she sits. She has no weapons - all available spears and pikes are at the walls.

Katara can hear her own blood pounding. It's only a few minutes longer, she's certain. Soon there will be boots in the snow; armored ones, not the stitched and oiled ones that the village cobbler makes from the softest, warmest leathers.

The screams seem softer than Katara remembered. She has to strain to hear as men and women alike come to blows in the distance. The wall is breeched. The Fire Nation has massive steel noses on the fronts of their ships that can smash through ice flows. The village's defenses never stood a chance.

Once the noise starts, everything races along at a breakneck pace. There are demands from the invading Fire Nation soldiers to round up specific families. Gran-gran is dragged away, kicking and struggling. Sokka clutches Katara around the middle to keep her from revealing that  _she's here. She's the one that they want._

It takes too long to fight away from Sokka's grip. Katara can feel the time skipping past her as she stumbles through the snow to return to their family home. She knows what she is going to see, but still she has to get there faster. Maybe this time she can do something different. It's taken too long for her to question the dream, the memory she's been locked into.

Maybe this time she can stop her mother from dying.

Katara's chest heaves and the ground in front of her narrows as hyperventilation steals her sight away. It takes so long to cover the ground she and Sokka had so gleefully run that morning. She staggers through the entrance to their home, past the torn fabric that kept in the warmth of their cook fire.

The man stands over her mother's corpse, eddies of flame still curling around his fist.

And Katara wakes from her nightmare.

She can smell eggs cooking on a skillet, not flesh burning. Furs tumble from her shoulders as she shoots up in bed.

"Morning, little lion seal. That's quite the wake up!"


	2. Chapter 2

“Mom, you’re alive!” Katara breathes. It’s cruel, she thinks, to jump from the chaos of the end of the nightmare back to the sweet, soft morning. Even crueler is how her heart leaps in joy as her mother’s laughter reaches her ears.

Kya tilts her head as she looks her daughter over. “Of course I’m alive. Did you have a nightmare?” she asks.

An answer is too difficult to give. Hakoda comes in, just as he had before, with the fish on his line and a peck on the cheek for his wife. “Both children are sleeping the morning away today, I suppose,” he chuckles.

Katara is still frozen in her bed, unwilling to slip into the simple domesticity of the dream. She had made that mistake last time. “I had a dream. I think the spirits are trying to warn me about something,” she says. It’s easier to blame the spirits than to explain how she’s already lived this day before - twice. She’s not an eight year old girl anymore.

Yet to her parents, she still is, no matter how hard she insists that there’s something to worry about. “The Fire Nation isn’t going to attack,” Hakoda says firmly. “We have scouts with polar dogs on the edges of the village, so even if they do, we’ll see them coming and can defend ourselves.”

Kya is more patient with her daughter, running a hand over Katara’s hair to soothe her. “Sometimes nightmares are just nightmares,” she insists. “The spirits are playing a trick on you. They like to test us sometimes, to make us worry and waste the day away for something that will never happen.”

Its of no use to convince them she’s telling the truth, that once they leave their warm, comforting home that they will never be together again. Hakoda gives up trying to reason with her and heads out to find Gran Gran. It takes all of her strength to not cry. The argument has ruined the morning she remembered and yielded nothing in return.

Sokka helps their mother to clean up the ruins of breakfast. Katara doesn’t bother to finish her eggs; they taste like ash in her mouth. Gran Gran arrives without Hakoda, a frown creasing her wrinkled face. “Someone had a night terror?” she asks.

“It wasn’t a dream. Or it wasn’t _just_ one,” Katara insists. Her arms fold over her chest and she looks at her grandmother as sternly as she can. It doesn’t matter. Gran Gran sends Sokka out to her hut before squatting to regard Katara. With both mother and grandmother looking at her, Katara bursts into tears.

“Please, you have to believe me. They’re coming. They’re going to kill so many people,” she cries.

Kya gathers her daughter into her arms and holds her. “I don’t know what to say to you, little one,” she sighs. “I promise that everyone is going to be okay. Your father went to check the scouts. Nothing will happen-”

Horns blared as the sentries passed the word through long, sustained tones. The sound brought a shudder to Katara’s bones. She’d changed things. Someone had looked, had seen the approaching ships.

Kya let go of her daughter, falling back on her knees. Fear and confusion overtake her face as she turns to regard Gran Gran. “That’s not possible,” she whispers. Katara’s feeling of relief fades as her mother races to her feet. Kya grabs her parka and hurries out from their home.

“No!” Katara screams. “Don’t go out there!”

She leaps to try and follow her mother, but her tiny eight-year-old stride is nothing compared to Gran Gran’s long-honed instinct. Katara is swept into her arms, no longer trusted to walk on her own. Her grandmother’s strength surprises her and Katara doesn’t struggle even as Gran Gran bustles her out from the family home.

“We need to find your brother,” she insists. They follow the path to her home, Katara bouncing with every hurried step. She can see over Gran Gran’s shoulder, can watch as the steel grey behemoths approach. One doesn’t stop, barrelling ahead to crash through the village wall. Katara squeezes her eyes shut to avoid watching as the soldiers rush through the gaping hole.

She can’t move her hands to block her ears though. Screams once again rise and fall in a chaotic opera. When it stops, Katara sucks in a deep breath. They’ve stopped moving.

Peeling one eye open, Katara looks at the ceiling of her family home. “Good morning, little lion seal.”


	3. Chapter 3

The cycle refuses to end. Katara wakes every time to the smell of eggs cooking, to the sight of her mother’s smiling face, to the sound of Hakoda storming in with a line of fish. Her mother’s food bears no flavor. Her own hands feel distant from her self. Of course, this isn’t real, Katara continues to insist. It’s a cruel game, some torment that refuses to end.

She learns how to slip away from the routine, to ditch Sokka and worm her way to the wall. The soldiers there don’t take her warnings seriously. She watches men and women die from burns and swords. Some brag or swagger about when the warning horn first sounds. “Looks like it’s gonna be a great brawl!” one warrior says nearly every time Katara stands near him. She hates the phrase, hates even more how it doesn’t matter if she picks up a spear or pulls water into a familiar whip. It’s not enough to stem the tide and more often than not someone drags her away from the danger for her own safety.

This time when she wakes up, Katara has to wipe away the ghost of shed tears. She had dogged the man she always saw killing her mother, hoping to put a dagger of ice through his heart and be done with it. His armor was too strong and instead she was traded as a prisoner in exchange for the “last waterbender.” She dooms her mother in every iteration of the past, no matter how hard she tries not to.

“Good morning, little lion seal,” her mother murmurs. “What has you so sad?”

Katara rolls to her feet and stumbles to her mother’s side. Clinging to her was desperate and pointless, so instead Katara leans heavily against her. “Can I talk to you?” she asks in a small voice.

Her mother pauses in stirring the scrambled eggs. “We’re talking right now,” she says. But her mother isn’t one to deflect or be cruel. She removes the skillet from the flame, passing it to Hakoda as he enters. “Finish that?” she asks, walking with Katara out into the cold.

Instinct brings Katara to the path that leads towards Gran Gran, but she can’t bear to follow it to its end. Instead, she tugs her mother’s hand and brings them down the trail that lead away from the village and the wall. “Mom, I’m scared,” she admits once they leave the bustling homes behind.

“What of?” Kya asks. She’s patient and lets Katara chew over her thoughts for an entire minute.

“What happens when you die?” The question is childish coming from the eight-year-old, but Katara - the Katara who went to bed with the worries of the Avatar’s task heavy on her mind - needs to hear the answer.

Kya hums. Katara’s certain at first that she’s going to get the kid answer: the spirits take you to the next world and comfort those left behind. Instead, her mother sighs and kneels in front of her.

“When you die, you stop being around for your family and friends. You can’t hold their hands-” Kya squeezes Katara’s hands with a sad smile “-or share a meal. And that’s something to be sad about. But you also no longer need to fear pain or sickness. So that’s a good thing.”

Katara tries to listen to every word, intent on memorizing exactly how her mother speaks. She hasn’t truly focused on her mother in this nightmare, not since the first iteration. But this one feels different. It’s her last ditch effort to save her mother from her destiny.

Running a hand over Katara’s hair, Kya’s smile fades. “Do you understand?” The way that she asks the question is heavy.

One should lifts and falls. “No, not really,” Katara admits. “It doesn’t stop others’ pain. It makes them worse.”

Her mother nods once again. “But death is part of life. If no one died, then one life couldn’t mean as much as it does,” she explains.

Katara turns her head to the sky. It’s just barely started to darken. She doesn’t have much time left. “Can’t people do more if they got to live longer? Wouldn’t you be able to help so much more if you didn’t have to die?” No tears come this time; she’s cried all that she can bear.

“Oh sweetie, no one can live forever.”

“Not forever, but what about a few more years? What would the harm be in that?” Katara’s voice breaks with the question.

Kya pulls Katara into her arms one final time, and in Katara’s heart she knows it’s the final time. The ash has begun to fall. It’s the beginning of the raid. “I’m going to miss you, too,” her mother whispers.

Katara stands, bewildered and heartbroken. Her mother touches her shoulders one final time before turning and striding confidently back down the path, towards her own death. “Why are you doing this?” Katara shrieks. Her mother pauses and turns once more to face her young daughter.

“I can’t let them hurt you or the others. I can’t turn my back on them, even though it breaks my heart. I have to go,” Kya says.

Heart in her throat, Katara nods. She knows this is the last time she’ll see her mother and holds her eyes open for as long as she can. Finally, when her mother has descended the path out of view, she closes her eyes.

When she opens them, Katara does not see ice. She sees blue sky and arching tree branches.

_Goodbye, my little lion seal,_ the wind whispers.


End file.
